


Hearts of Stone.

by kryptononon



Series: steel always seeking; eyes ever watching. [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, F/F, Pre-Canon, a bit angsty, a bit fluffy, how the HELL do you tag shit, the beauyasha comes in later, the trauma hits like a freight in this one, yasha is a WITCHER, you know what yasha needs a hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryptononon/pseuds/kryptononon
Summary: "Indeed, there is nothing more repulsive than these monsters that defy nature and are known by the name of Witcher, as they are the offspring of foul sorcery and witchcraft. They are unscrupulous scoundrels without conscience and virtue, veritable creatures from hell capable only of taking lives..."Yasha had thought of herself the same, once. Then it all changed.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha, Obann & Yasha (Critical Role), Yasha/Zuala (Critical Role)
Series: steel always seeking; eyes ever watching. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563100
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	1. Trial of the Grasses.

**Author's Note:**

> here she is, part 2 of yasha being a witcher because you know what, its one of the best concepts i have come up with in a while.  
> enjoy!

"Yasha of Iothia. Step forward." The Sky-Spear said, her voice demanding respect from every single person, child or Witcher alike in the room. Yasha, the only person here without a proper last name, looks to her best friend for guidance, and Zuala raises her eyebrows at Yasha, waving her hand towards the front, urging her to proceed. The young Yasha of Iothia, clothed in her white tunic and oversized leather pants, steps forward, looking up towards the imposing figure of the Sky-Spear as she gulped down some saliva out of pure nervousness.

"Zuala Nydoorin. Step forward." The Sky-Spear said again, Yasha scanning the audience for her friend, who enthusiastically bounded up to the front, smiling at Yasha, and a crinkle of the corner of her eyes.

Yasha, still uptight and nervous, lets her eyes roam on the crowd of older Witchers and young children anxiously waiting for their turn to participate in the Trial of the Grasses. Two more children are brought up, both of them looking equally as apprehensive as Yasha. Both of them were young boys around her age, recognising one of them as Stivei, and the other as Teziy from her swordfighting classes.

Leading them to the four alchemical worktables, the mages guarding each one lift each apprentice onto the tables, poking needles into their veins and connecting them to long glass tubes that led back to various alchemical formulas, each one looking unnaturally coloured and bubbling in their respective containers. Wincing as Yasha felt a thick needle enter her arm, she looks over to the side, gazing at Zuala, who winks at her and smiles affectionately at her, mouthing a few words.

"See you on the other side." 

Yasha couldn't help but smile back. Such was the effect of being around Zuala. But Yasha was worried. All of the learned tomes that she read at night on her bedroll told her that the Trial leaves all who pass it with no emotion, and those who fail the Trial would never wake up again. Yasha fervently prays to whatever deity that is out there for one simple thing.

_Please, please, please, never let Zuala change._

As the last needle was connected to a final glass tube, all of the apprentices had their wrists and ankles tied down to the sides of the tables with rough hemp ropes, making sure that the Trial would run its full course. Seeing the last rope tied down, the Sky-Spear nods at the mages, who all began to turn taps and flip levers around.

Looking at the alchemical mixes enter her veins, Yasha feels the internal fire burn her arms, her shoulder, her neck, as it tensed. She tries to keep it in, stay stoic, but the pain was unbearable. Muttering her desperate pleas for Zuala under her laboured breath, Yasha then lets out a primal scream, her throat raw as the glowing liquids coursed through her bloodstream. Her eyes wrenched open, Yasha's pupils dilated as her left eye began to water, the liquid dripping onto her white tunic. Looking down as she struggled against her restraints, she saw the deep crimson of blood drip, the taste of iron beginning to seep through her lips from the left side of her face.

Unable to catch her breath, Yasha collapses onto the table, the pain still burning within her, but she is too tired to scream. WIth her pleas and her blood on her lips, Yasha's vision begins to fade, the last thing she perceived being the slowly building thunder from outside the Wolf School of Witchers.

* * *

The next thing Yasha remembers is a soft groan escaping her lips, her throat raw and inexplicably dry. Then an incessant chattering beside her, before it stops, whoever was speaking gasps, and Yasha feels pressure release from her ankles and wrists. Feeling a hand support her back, Yasha struggles to sit up, her senses still dull, her vision coming into focus.

She sees a tangle of brown hair, framing beautifully tanned skin and delicate features. The sounds sound muffled at first, but the sensations soon hit her like a horsecart at full speed.

Yasha's vision sharpens, and she no longer just sees the young woman in front of her, but she can see behind her, the areas that she couldn't see just a moment ago, seemingly illuminated and bathed in a monochromatic spray. She gasps, and the scent entering her noses registers so fast as giant rat blood, giant rat blood, giant rat blood, killed recently, still here. Scrambling to sit straight up, she grabs onto the thin metal surrounding her bed, squeezing it so tight that the sheet crumples beneath her grip.

No, there was no way, no way in all of the nine hells that a 10-year-old could crush metal with her bare hands.

"Yasha? Yash! Hey, hey, I'm here, don't worry." Zuala cooed, placing a gentle, tentative hand on her shoulder.

Slinking down into the familiar feeling and voice, Yasha sighs, placing a hand above Zuala's, squeezing ever so gently, earning a smile from her best friend.

"Zuala." Yasha managed, her voice cracking.

"Yasha. Stubborn, stubborn Yasha of Iothia. Your pulse was so weak, the Sky-Spear thought you were dead. But here you are, last to wake up." Zuala promptly hugs her but releases her after hearing Yasha's pained groans. "You changed the most, I think,"

"Really? How so?" the young Yasha takes Zuala's hand, stepping on the stool and then hopping to the floor. "Your eyes are... different," She notes, Zuala giving her a side-eye as she took a closer look, the edges of her friend's brown irises giving rise to gold flecks, and irises sharpened to a near slit.

"Well, trust me, that's about the only outwardly change you would see on me. You on the other hand," Zuala stops in her tracks suddenly, letting go of Yasha's hand to turn her chin around, inspecting her. Staring straight into her eyes, Zuala nods and gives a hum of approval. "You have one purple eye and one blue one. You had two blue ones before. Also, you... you look so pale."

Raising her hands up to inspect them herself, Yasha's eyes widen. She feels fine, but her skin is so white, it almost reminds her of the snow that falls on the tops of the Ashkeeper Peaks.

"But you're still really pretty, so let's go. The Giver of Names is giving us our names today. I hope I get a good one." Zuala muses before Yasha holds on to her wrist, stopping her.

"Where are Stivei and Teziy? They did the Trials with us, no?"

Zuala's expression drops. "Teziy didn't make it. They buried him yesterday."

A singular " _Oh,_ " makes its way out of Yasha, and Zuala drags her off again, to the main hall where some elders, the Sky-Spear and Stivei sat around a steadily burning flame, a half-elven man in white robes circling his hands dangerously close to the flames. Making themselves comfortable around the campfire, the newly minted Witchers were called upon one by one, each of them given tribal names after having sacrificed some of their blood to the fire.

"Stivei Morhen, a spirit speaks your name, you shall be named Morrowind, Witcher of the Wolf School. Go forth, and bring peace throughout Xhorhas, and the many realms beyond." The Giver of Names speaks with a spectral lilt, the hollowness in his voice somehow making him more intimidating.

Zuala was up next. Taking the knife carved out of a gryphon's femur from its holder, she rakes it across her palm, wincing as she squeezes the blood out over the flame, where it sizzles for a few moments.

"Zuala Nydoorin. Your blood speaks to me, and to me, it speaks your name. You shall be named the White Eagle, soar above expectations, Witcher of the Wolf School. Go forth, and bring peace throughout Xhorhas, and the many realms beyond."

Zuala steps down, and Yasha steps forward, greeting the Giver of Names, who nods in response, gesturing to the ritual knife. Repeating the steps that Zuala did, Yasha squeezes out her blood, hearing it sizzle on the hot coals as it gave off a smell, Yasha crinkling her nose in response.

"Yasha of Iothia. Your rage so strong, it growls and demands me to tell you your name. You came to us without a name, but know now that you are the Orphanmaker, Witcher of the Wolf School. Go forth, and bring peace throughout Xhorhas, and the many realms beyond."

She repeated the name to herself over and over again.

Orphanmaker.

_Orphanmaker._


	2. The Trail.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time on Hearts of Stone: Yasha of Iothia and Zuala Nydoorin, as well as some other kids, go through the Trial of Grasses, and only three out of four of them survive. The newly appointed Witchers then take a blood oath and are each given a tribal name. Zuala was then named the White Eagle, and Yasha was named the Orphanmaker. Yasha takes a moment to mull over her new name, feeling mixed emotions.

Seated at the foot of the large tree in front of the Wolf School, Yasha of Iothia clutched the Witcher's medallion hanging from her neck, the insignia of the wolf comforting her as she looked down at the two swords resting in her lap. Picking up the one with a straight horizontal hilt, she holds it in her hands, twisting the grip around to test the leather bindings before sheathing it in the soft, oiled leather sheath. Yasha then traces the runes on the blade of the second sword, still relatively freshly engraved as the interior grooves and fullers retained their shine, unlike those relics that had been housed in the Wolf School's library.

Getting up, Yasha twirled the silver sword around, gauging its weight and balance. Experimental twirls soon turn into elaborate twists of the sword, and soon, she hears the wind howl past her ears as she slashes and spins together with the sword, feeling the blade as an extension of her body as she spins it above her head bringing it down with a sudden burst of power, before bringing the edge of the blade up in a feint strike, turning around rapidly as she slashed from the other direction, accelerating it as she followed through her routine with a single-handed spin above her head, letting the blade rest at her side.

Impressed clapping echoes throughout the fields then, as Zuala exited the school gates, nodding at her friend. Tucking a worn scroll into her fur coat, she smiles at Yasha, before looking at the sword in her hand.

"You know, if you wanted to do a routine like that to impress me, you could have just used the steel blade. The silver one is pretty darn soft." Zuala chides, and Yasha abashedly sheathes the silver sword after running her fingertips along the edge to look for any rolls.

"Sorry, I got bored," Yasha replies softly, and Zuala replies by ruffling her two-toned hair, pulling them along.

"It's been a few years since we graduated from the school, Yasha of Iothia, but I'm pretty sure everyone in the Wolf School knows that you're the best in swordfighting in pretty much the _whole_ of Xhorhas. All of the sword forms when you were ten, Yash," 

Yasha opens her mouth to protest, but Zuala, clad in her heavy fur coat, shushes Yasha and continues.

"You're eighteen now, and your form has only improved, by Kord, your level of mastery is so high that the elders don't even bother commenting on your methods anymore! Take a compliment from me, Yasha, by Kord, have you earned this." Zuala begins to ramble, as Yasha unties both of their horses from a nearby post, petting Roach on its snout, sneaking him a carrot.

Hearing Zuala finish, Yasha plainly hums in response, getting up on Roach. "Is there any coin to be made today? I saw the parchment in your coat,"

The other Witcher nods her head, passing Yasha the worn scroll for her to read as she got up on her horse. It read, in scrawled handwriting that was honestly quite hard to read, that a pride of gryphons had been harassing the nearby township just at the foot of the Penumbra Range. Handing the scroll back to Zuala, the two young, but fairly experienced Witchers whipped their reins, as their horses sped up to a decent gallop.

"I thought gryphons are manageable monsters to beat?" Yasha asked, looking towards Zuala, who kept her eyes trained forward.

"One, maybe. But five is quite a few. Not to mention angry mother gryphons looking out for their young."

"I see," Yasha replies, running the situation over in her head as the Witchers continued their journey onward.

* * *

Tracking the gryphons proved itself to be easy, the trail of toppled trees led the two Witchers right to the pride. Now couched behind a fallen tree, Zuala looked towards Yasha, who silently gave the signal to advance quietly. Using the cover of night, Yasha rolls from one tree to another, while Zuala remained crouched, slowly unsheathing her silver sword as she hid behind some dense shrubbery.

One of the adult gryphon's head snaps towards the rustle of leaves in Zuala's direction, which makes her bite down on her lip hard to avoid a slur escaping. Seeing the momentary distraction, Yasha slips out a dagger from her cloak, beginning to ascend the tree. Hearing the screech from below her, she picks up the pace as she reached a stable branch and leapt off of it while drawing her silver sword, stabbing into the head of a younger gryphon, bringing it to the ground immediately as it struggled to stand.

Rolling off the injured gryphon, Yasha stands at guard as two gryphons begin to surround her, a third screeching from the back as it guarded the injured one. Rushing in front of her with her hand outstretched, Zuala tucks her ring finger into her palm as a great spray of fire erupted from her hand, burning one gryphon and causing the other to reel, the creature slashing wildly as it backs up, its claws coming dangerously close to Zuala's coat.

"Zuala!" Yasha shouted, over the gryphons' panicked screeches, running over to Zuala and taking her hand, pulling her behind her back as she tried, and failed to parry the blow, instead taking it in her chest, causing her to take a few steps back as crimson blood stained her fur coat.

"Shit, Yasha!" Zuala said as she slashed twice at one gryphon, exposing its bloody interior before guiding her back to a proper stance. "There's so much blood. You alright?" 

The question fell on deaf ears as Yasha's breaths became deeper and more forceful, the thrumming of the blood in her veins the only sound that she hears as she shrugs Zuala's hand off her shoulder out of instinct, running at one of the gryphons, slashing at one leg. Parrying two more claw attacks with the spin of her sword, Yasha's vision begins to tunnel as she focused on the singular target in front of her, stabbing it in its side before dragging the blade along and tearing it out as the gryphon laid there, motionless.

Still looking on in shock, Zuala snaps out of it, shaking her head as she ran towards another one of the four gryphons, dodging its strike with by dropping to her knees gracefully, kicking out her leg to give her some leverage as she spun to an upright position, nicking the gryphon's claw as she called forth another Igni blast from her palm, sending the beast scrambling back as it collapses on the ground, unmoving. Taking a moment to regain her bearings, Zuala looks towards Yasha, who unlike her was still barrelling down blow after blow on the surviving beasts, Zuala rushing forward to help her.

As Yasha goes for a gut stab and misses, Zuala jumped off a tree stump, bringing the full brunt of the silver blade down on the gryphon, maiming it as its wing was severely injured, leaving the gryphon screeching in pain. In an unprecedented turn of events, Zuala sees Yasha unsheath her steel blade, taking the time that Zuala bought for her to set up for a dual bladed attack. Knowing that her role in this was over, for now, Zuala rolls between the gryphon's legs to the other side, finishing off the other gryphon with a clean slice of its neck.

Leaping off the same tree stump, Yasha slashes with both blades at the gryphon's neck, rolling out of the way as a beak came barrelling towards her, immediately getting up as her right sword cuts upwards, catching in the beast's fur and only managing to cut off a patch of fur. Her right hand is forced back, preparing for the next strike as her left sword, the steel sword, is thrust into the gryphon's chest, stabbing it as it let out a sound that was somewhere being halfway between a roar and a screech. Sliding forward with a thrust of her back leg, Yasha smoothly slices a tendon in its leg, before manoeuvring the sword back into a thrust, nicking it in its ankle. With another flurry of movements, she brings the steel sword, followed by the silver sword forward for another cut, twirling, as gracefully as Yasha could, bringing down both of her swords for a devastating blow to the creature downwards, sending guts and viscera spilling on the forest floor. With a final upward strike with both of her swords, the gryphon was sent tumbling back, collapsing into the shrubbery as it laid there, well and truly slain.

Breathing heavily now, Yasha sheathes her silver sword and leans on the steel one for support, as Zuala jogged up to her, offering her a waterskin. Nodding and accepting it gratefully, Yasha takes a few gulps of it, wincing at the slightly bitter taste as she passed the waterskin back to Zuala.

"What did you put in your water!?" Yasha choked on her words while coughing.

"Oh, I diluted some alcohol in the water." Zuala smiled at her friend, patting her on the back, before giving her a concerned look. "By the way, that was... excellently fought."

Confused, Yasha furrows her eyebrows before responding with a simple hum and a word of thanks.

"Are you sure you're okay though?" Zuala asks Yasha, her voice soft and gentle. "You're usually very stoic, but just now, those attacks held the emotion of a thousand warring soldiers. Don't get me wrong, Witchers like you and I are very bizarre in different ways, but something tells me that that was more than just tactical choice, Yasha."

"I..." Yasha's voice faltered. "I got really angry. I think I know why."

"What is it then, Yash?"

Yasha averted her gaze, looking towards the floor instead, where a chunk of meat sat, her voice barely a whisper. "It tried to attack you, Zuala."

Zuala laughed softly, bringing Yasha into a warm hug.

"Oh, Yasha, I wasn't going to die even if it did hit me," Zuala reassured, patting Yasha's back quietly.

Yasha pulls back from the hug, and for the first time, meets Zuala's gaze for more than a few seconds.

"I didn't want you to get hurt," Yasha said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She knew Zuala was out of her league. She surely didn't like her that way.

The other shoe never drops. Instead, the silence stretches out between them, the two Witchers held close to each other, blood still caked on their cloaks, the sun quickly setting behind them. Yasha stares into Zuala's eyes, admiring the gold flecks that surrounded her cat-like pupils, imagining them to be stars in the night sky.

It was funny, how all the learned tomes that Yasha used to read on her bedroll while she was younger suggest that Witchers like her don't feel emotion, but right now, all Yasha felt was a buzzing in her chest as the two women closed the space between them, meeting their lips together. It was soft, cautious, typical of a first kiss, but it was all Zuala. Resting their foreheads together, the two Witchers bask in the silence between them, before Zuala quietly breathes out, her words nearly lost to the wind.

"Oh, Yasha, you had no idea, did you?"

"Know what?"

"I like you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the f i r s t k i s s  
> and also, an exploration into yasha the barbarian witcher's motivations!   
> comments and kudos are much appreciated here! have a nice time and bidet!
> 
> come holler at me on tumblr! @ham-ham-ham-shark!


	3. House of Nydoorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last on Hearts of Stone: Yasha and Zuala go on a hunt, defeating a pride of gryphons for some coin, and in the process, Yasha goes into her first rage, protecting Zuala. Afterwards, Yasha and Zuala reveal their feelings for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for: implied homophobia and depictions of execution, implied panic attack.

The sunrise looked exceptionally pretty this morning. Maybe it was because they were at the foot of the Ashkeeper Peaks, where everything is bathed in just enough mist to make it magical and beautiful. Or maybe it was the company.  
  
Kissing the top of Zuala's head, Yasha quietly slid out of their shared bedroll, sitting in front of the now dying campfire. Laying a few preserved rat carcasses onto the embers, Yasha flips them with her bare hands as the smell wafted across their campsite. Zuala stirs and lets out a huge yawn, slowly sitting up as she took a few minutes to rub the sleepiness out of her eyes.

"Good morning, love," Yasha said, flipping the rat carcasses again. Zuala doesn't respond, instead, she slumps over Yasha's form, hugging her from behind as she pressed a few kisses on Yasha's cheek before groaning. Although the kisses were sloppy, not to mention they reeked of last night's dinner of venison, Yasha still smiled despite herself, turning around to meet Zuala's lips with her own, just for a moment, before pulling away.

"...You're such a tease." Zuala groans and Yasha laughs, passing her the bag of tea leaves they had bought from a travelling merchant a week ago, her partner promptly preparing tea to chase away any morning weariness.

Soon, the rat carcasses are fully cooked, and the tea was brought to a delightful simmer. Seated in the middle of a Xhorhasian forest, the couple enjoyed their meal in comfortable silence, the birds calling out to each other as the sunlight peeked over the horizon. Yasha buried the bones of the rats and sat against a tree, enjoying the soft sunlight as she sipped on her tea.

"Hey, Yasha?" Zuala said all of a sudden, and Yasha looked at her over the rim of her metal cup, responding softly. Gods, when Zuala was framed by the sunlight like this, Yasha wondered why she ever hesitated in confessing her love to her.

"Let's get married."

Yasha had to forcefully swallow her tea down to keep it from being spit out.

"W-what?" Yasha sputters her words, wiping her chin and looking up at Zuala in disbelief, trying to see if she was pulling her leg. Zuala was fond of pranks, but this one seemed... just plain impossible.

"You heard me, Yash. Let's get married." Zuala said, her voice firm and confident. Yasha, on the other hand, was everything but.

"Zuala, you must be kidding. You know that Witchers can't marry Witchers. Much less... us. I mean, I love you, very, very much, but you know what happens if we do this. Yronia and Liandre got exiled because of it. We... we would be executed, Zuala. We need to wait-"

"Wait for what, Yasha?" Zuala interjects, scooting closer to Yasha, who was panicking slightly. She grabs on to Yasha's chin softly and traces the linear tattoo there. "I'm not going to wait until the Sky-Spear gives us a mate. Actually, you don't even have to wait. You know she will give you a man."

Yasha says nothing. The truth rings true in her head. She just stares into Zuala's yellow cat-like irises, speechless.

"I love you, Yasha. And I want nothing more than to be yours. Forever." Zuala said, this time softer, more gentle, gazing back into Yasha's eyes, holding her as if she were her entire world.

"Forever," Yasha replied, after a long pause, as she slowly leaned into Zuala's touch, kissing her softly and reverently, cupping her face in her hands.

* * *

Yasha and Zuala looked at each other worriedly as they made their way back to the Wolf School of Witchers. The air was tense around them, but the couple tried to salvage all of the warmth in and between themselves, as Zuala squeezed Yasha's hand tightly, smiling at her before they stopped in front of an oak tree, composing themselves.

"We've gotten away from them for five years, Yasha," Zuala said, holding both of Yasha's hands.

"We could run, Zuala. We don't need to go back and face them." Yasha pleaded, her heterochromatic eyes shining with unshed tears. Zuala just smiles, tear tracks already marking her face as she kissed Yasha for what could be the last time.

"No, Yasha. We go back. We stand up, and we set an example. All the young ones need is someone to look up to. Someone to show them that it's possible. And then maybe, just maybe, when the Sky-Spear passes, however long that might be, that the heir to her position will let the younger Witchers love as they please. Witcher and non-Witcher alike." Zuala's voice cracks and Yasha's tears start to fall, the taste of brine strong as she inhaled through her mouth, bringing her wife in for a strong embrace, desperate to commit her body to memory. Every taut muscle, every curve, every sharp angle, all committed to memory as they stood there, the autumn winds blowing across Xhorhas.

They stayed like that for a few moments, hugging behind the cover of the tall oak tree, crying and whispering sweet nothings to each other as the imposing shadow of the Wolf School was cast upon them, like an unmoving reminder of their fate. After a long while, the two reluctantly separated, as they both walked towards the stone walls of the school, a familiar figure waiting for them on the periphery.

Stivei looks at them both, as he smiled a sad, tight-lipped smile, nodding.

"You two were perfect for each other." He said sadly, standing nearby as Yasha was yanked away from Zuala, kicking and screaming as two other Witchers came over to help restrain Yasha as she screamed and cried, punching her captor in his jaw so hard that he was knocked unconscious, leaving one of them to cover Yasha's head with a sack as she was pommelled into submission by the blunt of someone's sword, as well as the silence that had fallen on the courtyard. Whatever it was that happened, Yasha couldn't hear Zuala, and that in itself hurt more than a pommel to her temple. 

Yasha was in a state of resigned catharsis as her captors dragged her across the main courtyard, the sack still on her head, obscuring her vision. She was thrown haphazardly on a hard surface as she heard footsteps approach her, and a large warm hand on her shoulder.

"Yasha. It's me, Stivei. I'm going to try and help you during the process. Just follow along, okay? You'll be alright." A gentle and familiar male voice said as Yasha's mind was still clouded with grief over an event that had yet to happen. There was only one thing on her muddled mind.

"Z...Zuala?" Her words came out slurred, but they still held the same weight. Yasha felt a squeeze on her shoulder.

"She told me to help you. Now rest, you need the strength for tonight."

Yasha didn't want to sleep. Her rage bubbled through, but there was a lead anchor on her consciousness, and a few arcane words were whispered before Yasha was forcefully dragged into an unwanted slumber, her consciousness feeling as if it were suspended in the open sea, floating aimlessly, without control, and without purpose.

* * *

Jerking awake, Yasha felt the sensation of pain on her cheek as the arcane tiredness immediately faded away, replaced by an innate sense of dread, fear, and under that all, bubbling rage.

She was bound by some moulded earth around her torso, and shifting in any way just made the dirt somehow press in harder. Yasha hears a familiar laugh from behind her, and Zuala met her gaze with tearful sadness, and yet she smiles at Yasha with a fondness that screams affection, that screams love and need. 

"Yasha, my love, it's no use. Just do what Stivei and I tell you to, okay?" Zuala said with a resigned heaviness in her voice.

"Zuala, I'm not going to leave you here, okay? We're both going to get out of here alive, and we're going to run away from here." Yasha said, panic rising in her chest. There was a pregnant pause before Zuala responds.

"You were always the strongest of us. I love you so much, Yasha. And I only wish for your happiness." Zuala said, before being interrupted by the Sky-Spear, addressing the slowly growing crowd of Witchers and apprentices that gathered around the courtyard seemingly to watch the punishment of Yasha and Zuala. The murmuring from the crowd was quickly hushed as the Sky-Spear got up from her seat, walking over to the post where they were held fast by the moulded earth, a ceremonial greatsword in her grasp.

"Hear now, Witchers of the Wolf School, young and old, see them now, the two traitors of our sacred order. They entertained emotions, entertained love amongst themselves. Love breeds bias, breeds corruption and filth. See now, the consequences of such sacrilegious blasphemy against our order of Witchers." The Sky-Spear said, before approaching them, just close enough to glare at them with extreme disdain and disgust.

"Shame to you, Zuala Nydoorin. You were meant to be pure and bereft of all sin. I guess the Giver of Names was mistaken." The matriarch said, and Zuala did not respond.

"And you. You, Orphanmaker. You were meant to the best of us. Your fighting skills were unmatched, your physical prowess unparalleled. And yet you fail us all, Yasha of Iothia. You came to us with no name, and we gave you one. And what did you give us in return? You gave us shame, gave us regret." 

Yasha's mouth was parched. Her vocal cords struggled to make a sound, but she willed it to give her a voice.

"I have a name. My name is Yasha. Yasha Nydoorin."

A gasp from the crowd. The Sky-Spear's glare grows even more disdainful, if that were even possible in the first place.

Then there was a small glow of light from someone in the crowd before the mound of earth that held the two women fast fell away, and the magic that made the Sky-Spear's voice boom was gone. A ball of fire scorched the platform, catching the Sky-Spear in the crossfire as Yasha instinctually leapt away. Looking up, Yasha sees Zuala's hand, and with a renewed sense of hope, she grabs on, pulling herself up as she looked around at the chaos that had ensued. Half of the courtyard was on fire, and a riot had ensued between the Witchers. Spells were tossed, and blows were exchanged, but Yasha and Zuala stood there, unmoving for a few moments before Zuala pushed Yasha towards the exit, tears in her eyes.

"Zuala? Let's go, what are you waiting for?" Yasha said, panicking as her hand clenched around an empty sword holster.

"Yasha, go."

"What?"

"I said go. Run. Save yourself."

"Then what about you, Zuala?"

"You'll feel my breeze on my shoulder, Yasha, now go. Please. Don't make it hard for me."

"No. I won't leave you here, Zuala." Yasha refused to budge, standing there stubbornly.

Zuala doesn't respond, but just gazes lovingly at Yasha for the final time, holding a feather in her hand as she dragged her other open palm against it at an angle, as the wind began to pick up, Yasha's hair whipping around.

"I love you, Yasha."

A wall of wind materialised from nowhere, as Yasha was forced back, flung away by the torrential winds into the open fields outside the Wolf School. 

Yasha's breathing began to hike as her chest got tighter and tighter. Running on pure instinct, Yasha takes a few steps away from the compound, before panic took over, pumping her legs and forcing her to run as fast as she could away from the place. And yet the whole time, Yasha felt the tailwind from behind her, the strong gust giving her hope every time she looked back at the steadfast wall of torrential winds. Every twenty steps, Yasha looked over her shoulder to see the Wind Wall still holding strong, but once she crossed the treeline, the gust from behind her ceased. Yasha looked back, and the wall of wind fell apart. She couldn't see what happened, but she felt it in her very being.

Zuala is dead.

Her eyes widened, and her heart and mind beg for her body to stop, to go back, to save Zuala, but her body doesn't listen, instead bringing her deeper and deeper into the jungle at the foot of the Ashkeeper Peaks. She wasn't ready for the frigid weather, but her body doesn't care, bring her further and further away into the forest. Her mind has gone numb, and her heart might as well not exist. All that was left was a deep pain within her, and the rage that boiled now, threatening to blow her head off, bleeding out of every scar that was on her body. Her knees buckled, exhausted, as Yasha breathed heavily, her vision fogged by tears, and her breath misted by the cold.

Thunder boomed across the sky, but it was muted.

Muted by a peal of soft laughter, and sharp warmth from her back.

She didn't move. But the warmth did.

He took a seat in front of Yasha's kneeling form. He was red-skinned, with a sharp smile. Everything about him was sharp. His jaw, his horns, those teeth-

"Ah, hello friend. You must be the fabled Orphanmaker, I presume?"

"How do you know that name?" Yasha asked, the uncertainty in her voice melting away bit by bit.

"I think we are going to be fast friends." The red-skinned man said, showing his toothy smile, filled with sharp teeth. He offers his hand to her, the warmth enticing her, a respite in the biting cold.

"Who... who are you?" Her voice came out rasped. There was something about this man, this red-skinned man, that pulled Yasha into his warmth.

And nearly always, people bereft of warmth always take the hand that offers them warmth in a cold and cruel world.

"Obann."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry

**Author's Note:**

> ah, i'm back on my bullshit. thanks for reading another instalment of this monster energy-fuelled tour into the ideas that haunt me at 2 am  
> bidet!
> 
> come holler at me on tumblr! @ham-ham-ham-shark!


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